


Ayra's Enemy

by jesuisaubergine



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: F/M, Reconciliation, mild violence, some combat and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisaubergine/pseuds/jesuisaubergine
Summary: Grannvale empire is her enemy.  House Dozel is the responsible for the murder of her father and brother. Ayra desires no closeness with her allies out of necessity… so why does her path keep crossing with Lex?





	Ayra's Enemy

Ayra raced along the tree line, keeping to the shadow so that the enemy didn’t notice her approach until it was too late. The thick forests of Verdane fell behind her, the swordswoman sprinting across the clearing towards the lancer who had turned his back to her. By the time he realized her presence, Ayra launched herself forward, feeling the blade pierce between the plates of armor.

The man screeched, struggling to pull back but unable to do so with the horse in a panic. Ayra tore her blade out, blood spurting out. Clutching his wound, he raised an arm to try and drive his spear into her chest, but the effect was immediate. His grip on the lance faltered and the man collapsed off his steed, lying in the growing pool of his own blood.

Ayra flicked the blood of her sword briefly, not giving herself time to breathe. A quick glance over her shoulder told her that the remaining the calvary had clashed with the rest of the forces. Lord Sigurd would soon need back up and while Ayra couldn’t keep at pace, her efficiency in killing would prove useful now.

Ayra leapt over the fallen horse, racing to join her fellow troops. A movement caught the corner of her eye, her grip tightening on her sword. She relaxed when she spotted another mercenary that Sigurd had recently hired on. He, too, was good with a sword and the two had taken to sparring recently. The fact that he also was from Isaach helped put her at ease where she could not with the rest of her travelling companions.

Most of the army were Grannvalians. And the fact that Ayra had to entrust Shannan’s safety to the same people who slaughtered her father and brother boiled her blood.

Ayra used that rage to fling herself at an axeman who got too close. Her blade slitted his throat before he even had the opportunity to strike at her. She spotted the sword knight behind the fallen soldier quickly pursuing her. She saw the opportunity faster than her mind processed it. Launching off the falling body, her sword struck against the approaching enemy, parrying his strike and giving her enough time to pivot and face him.

The soldier bellowed in rage, a warrior’s cry if there ever was. Unfortunately for him, his bravery was no match for a true Isaachian warrior. For all the slander the other nations spoke of Isaach, they at least got one thing right. Isaachians were true-blooded warriors and their skill on the battlefield was unmatched by few.

As he raced towards her, her eyes darted towards the horse galloping at her. She would make sure the beast did not suffer in death. Her blade sliced at the approaching horse, Ayra ducking low. The horse whinnied a pained screech, toppling to the ground and pinning its rider down with him.

Ayra took in a slow breath, turning on her haunches and walking over to the trapped swordsman. He desperately pushed to move the dying animal off of him, but by the time he realized the hopelessness of the situation, Ayra’s sword had taken another life in this battle.

The man’s body grew slack, his blond hair darkening to a muddy brown in the crimson. Ayra didn’t feel anger nor pity towards the man. When you chose to walk the life of the sword, then you must be willing to die by that same sword.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder – what was an Isaachian princess doing fighting in a Grannvalian wars? She had no reason to fight Agustrians, and yet she cut them down as she would any enemy before her.

Ayra’s musing were cut short by a sharp cry.

“Azel!”

Ayra turned her head towards the sound of the yell, recognizing the name of her comrade. She couldn’t spot who yelled it, but she spotted the red-haired mage, stumbling to the ground, a lance pinning him down. Azel gasped, eyes wide in pain, hands clutching the spear embedded in his torso.

Instinct took over as Ayra raced across the field with a speed few possessed. Before the knight could deal the finishing blow, Ayra sprinted forward. Her eye darted to the openings in his armor and for a second, time seemed to slow around her. Her blade led her forward, her body synchronizing with its movements as something ancient stirred in her.

The warrior’s blood.

Ayra’s sword struck upwards, loosening the knight’s grip on his weapon. He stumbled back, Ayra not giving him a moment to gather himself. Her blade slashed twice more, piercing through his shoulder and loosening the straps of his armor. She used the momentum to twist around, her blade creating a heaving gash across his chest before she struck three more times, the soldier’s screams lost in his throat before he could even call for help.

The knight collapsed to the ground unmoving after the barrage of attacks unleashed by the Isaachian princess.

Ayra gasped for breath, her body trembling with effort from the attack. She knelt down, staring at the ground, struggling to gather her thoughts. She didn’t understand what prompted her to protect her companion with such intensity. In a way, she understood that it was the very nature of her Crusader blood, but even so, it caught her off guard.

But for the moment, it didn’t matter. Ayra forced herself back to her feet, turning to check on Azel. By his side was Lady Aideen, already casting her magic to heal him of his injury. Azel gave an uneasy breath, but even from her position, Ayra could see the color returning to his face. Her swiftness of blade and quick thinking by the party’s healers allowed the mage to live another day.

A blue-haired man raced forward on a horse, quickly dismounting and racing over to his friend, scrambling to his knees to help in any way he could. Ayra’s gaze hardened for a moment, recognizing the young man as Lex of House Dozel. There were two men responsible for the death of her father. Lord Reptor of House Friege was one of them. The other was Lord Langbalt – Lex’s father.

Lex rose to his feet, weariness and relief worn plainly on his face. He turned towards Ayra, who quickly averted her gaze, praying that her contempt was not so clearly visible. Hoping that Lex would leave her be, Ayra was sorely disappointed when she heard her fellow “comrade” walk towards her.

“Hey, you’re Ayra, right?” Lex asked.

Ayra flicked her eyes towards him for a moment before turning back to survey the battlefield. It seemed the immediate threat had come to pass. They had won this battle. “Princess Ayra.”

“Right. Well, I saw what you did there, and I just wanted to say thanks. You saved Azel’s life back then and if you hadn’t been there, he would likely be dead,” Lex stated, though he now looked away, as if feeling as awkward about this conversation as Ayra did.

Ayra continued to avoid eye contact, her brows furrowed. She struggled to keep the scowl off her face. “Just doing my job,” she stated curtly.

Lex gave a small nod. “Yeah? Well, you’re pretty damn good at that job. I’ve never seen someone move like that with a sword. It’s something else. We should train sometime.”

Ayra’s knee-jerk reaction was to reject the offer. However, she knew she would be in Lord Sigurd’s army for some time. She and Shannan were in exile – this army provided some security in their wandering. It would be wise to play nice for now. She didn’t need to make friends, but she didn’t need any more enemies.

“Maybe.” Ayra walked away before Lex could answer, making a sweep towards the perimeter to search for any other enemy soldiers that might have slipped away. She heard Lex try to get her attention, but she didn’t turn back, her anger burning again.

She may fight alongside Lord Sigurd now, but she intended on getting revenge for her family. She would take the lives of the men who killed her father and brother. She would make House Friege and House Dozel pay in blood if it was the last thing she ever did.

But there was also Shannan to consider. He was a child, the true heir to the Isaachian throne. Mariccle entrusted his only son to Ayra for protection. Mariccle had to have known that he was walking towards his own death and instead of trying to preserve his life, he thought only of protecting those he loved.

So he asked Ayra to run away like a coward. Even if they had to live in the shadows and scrounge to survive, she would make sure that Shannan survived. So her vengeance against her enemies could wait until Shannan was older. One day they would right the wrongs committed against them.

Until then, Ayra bided her time for that day.

* * *

Ayra leaned against the wall of the armory, saying nothing as the blacksmith hemmed and hawed over her sword. The last few battled had been rough and the blade had started to grow dull again. The castle was bustling with activity as Sigurd’s forces prepared for a final launch against Agusty. If things went well, then King Chagall would finally be apprehended, and the war would finally end.

Ayra was ready to reach some sort of peace, the weeks of fighting weighing on her. However, the blacksmith griped to himself, muttering under his breath.

“Sir, are you going to repair my blade or not?” Ayra tried to keep the irritated note out of her voice, but her natural inflection made her sound angrier than intended.

The blacksmith turned towards her, his eyes narrowing. “I would, but the balance is completely off and the amount of time I would need to meld this down and reheat – you might as well buy a new blade at this rate.”

Ayra rolled his eyes. “I don’t have the money for a new sword. This blade has worked for me for this long – I can make it work for a while longer.”

“I can promise you that it’ll be more expensive to repair this piece of junk than to just get a new sword,” the blacksmith warned her, gesturing to the array of common iron swords lined against the wall.

Ayra’s eyebrow twitched but she said nothing. This sword had kept her and Shannan alive in their harrowing exile. This “piece of junk” delivered them from certain death. Ayra didn’t want to simply trade it out for an equally dull blade.

“Can’t you just mend it enough? I’ll consider what you said about a new sword, but right now, I don’t have the money and time for such luxuries.” Ayra crossed her arms, watching the blacksmith carefully. She wouldn’t be surprised if he were trying to scam her out of her money.

The blacksmith gave a beleaguered sigh, tossing her sword onto the anvil. “Fine, but I’m warning you – if it breaks in your next battle, that’s your life on the line.”

Ayra said nothing, pulling out the rest of her gold and tossing it to the blacksmith who snatched it out of the air. Not needing any more lectures, Ayra left the blacksmith to work on her sword. “Send word to the castle when my sword is ready.” Ayra didn’t wait to hear his response, stepping into the market square.

With the shop behind her, Ayra bit back a growl, raising a hand to rub at her temple. She knew that she needed to take care of her sword and watch her equipment. But this war blazing through Agustria didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath. If King Chagall did not respond to Lord Sigurd’s envoy soon, then the march would continue on.

Never did Ayra see herself marching along Grannvale into war. Especially given the state of her ravaged country far to the east.

Caught in her musings, Ayra didn’t hear the stranger approaching. A hand touched her shoulder. In a panic, Ayra twisted around, drawing a knife hidden along her belt. The blade just touched the stranger’s neck before she recognized the individual.

“Lex. What do you want?” Ayra managed to resist the urge to slice his throat, but still held the knife to his neck.

If Lex was panicked by Ayra’s aggressive stance, he didn’t show it. Instead, he carefully raised a finger to slowly push the knife away from his throat. “I’d been looking for you. I was wondering if you’d be down to train for a bit.”

Ayra slowly lowered her knife, angry at Lex for putting her on the spot. Of course, he would corner her with conversation. “My sword is in the shop right now.”

Lex swore under his breath, raising a hand brush his slicked-back blue hair. “Well, damn. What if I found you a sword to use? We could always use training weapons. It won’t be exactly the same, but that might be wise if I want to keep my neck.”

Ayra snorted, sheathing her knife. “Already doubting your chances at victory?”

“No, but I’m not stupid enough to underestimate an Isaachian warrior.”

Perhaps Lex wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Either way, it would give Ayra an excuse to burn off some built-up aggression.

“Fine. Let’s go to the training yard. Don’t disappoint me.” Ayra didn’t wait for Lex, setting off at a brisk pace.

Lex (thankfully) didn’t try to push conversation any further. He seemed just as eager to test blades as his companion. Ayra had her choice of terribly balanced and dull swords to pick from, basic weapons that were kept in storage, serving as back-ups in case their situation grew dire. It made Ayra wish for her old sword back, despite its imperfections.

She waited for Lex to join her on the training grounds, the area mostly vacant as everyone was either resting or preparing for further confrontation in a different way. Nobody would be stupid enough to try exhausting themselves before a battle.

Perhaps not stupid. Ayra would describe it as dedicated and diligent.

Lex stepped forward, a sturdy iron axe in his grip. Ayra could tell by the way Lex kept shifting his grasp that he, too, was dissatisfied by the weapon. Still, he didn’t voice these complaints, giving Ayra a small grin.

“Well? Ladies first.”

Ayra knew that Lex wasn’t mocking her, but he wasn’t being polite either. She figured she didn’t need to be polite either. Her eyes studied the armor for a moment before she sprinted forward. Her brother always said the best defense was a good offense.

Lex wouldn’t get an opportunity to land a single blow on her.

She could tell that Lex hadn’t been ready for her quick assault, rushing to raise his axe up to deflect. Seeing the motion quickly, she ducked low, slamming the blunt edge of the blade into Lex’s hip. It struck armor, but the impact was hard. Lex’s eyes widened in pain, gritting his teeth but still standing.

Ayra frowned, spinning around to make another strike, this time at his knee. Lex managed to plant his axe in time, catching sword. Ayra used the deflected moment to glide the blade upward, clipping Lex across the shoulder. With a final shove, she kicked Lex, sending him stumbling back several steps, though he managed to keep his balance.

Lex panted, the pain evident on his face, but he still stood, smirking all the while. Ayra took in a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Lex was tougher than most, she gave him that. But he didn’t know what he was getting himself into.

Ayra launched forward, ready with another barrage of assaults, but Lex was ready this time. Instead of trying to defend, he lunged forward, using the length of his weapon to close the gap between them. Ayra realized her mistake, twisting just in time before the axe plunged itself into her abdomen. She rolled back, her hands tightening on the hilt of her sword.

Lex was still smirking. It was time she wiped that cocky smirk on his face.

She homed in on the weak points of his armor, watching his movements for another second before racing forward. Like before, the enemy seemed to slow before her, each weak point appearing with perfect clarity, her motions fluid and precise. She knew how to take down Lex and there was nothing he could do.

Despite his earlier agility, Lex couldn’t match Ayra’s sudden burst of speed. The sword clipped once across his upper arm before he could duck low. He tried tuck forward and out of the way, but Ayra saw the maneuver, kneeling in time to place her blade in his path. His foot caught, causing him to fall prone on his back. He rolled quick to avoid the next strike, but Ayra was quicker. She dove forward, blade pinning Lex to the ground as she drew her knife to once again place across his neck.

“I win,” Ayra panted, breath unsteady. Her hand shook around her knife, the ever-present rage close to the surface.

Lex struggled to catch his breath, each slight movement being met with the cold metal pressed against his neck. For a moment, his smirk disappeared, but Ayra wasn’t happy with that either. This victory didn’t feel as satisfying as she would have hoped.

As if to confirm this, the shit-eating grin slipped right back onto Lex’s face. “Damn, you’re good. Wanna go another round?”

Ayra snorted, studying his expression. “Me kicking your ass wasn’t lesson enough?”

“Hardly. I have a few ideas on how to counter some of your maneuvers. I wanna give it another go.”

Lex really was stupid, but at least he was fun to spar with. Even if it meant Ayra beating the shit out of him. “Your funeral.”

Lex laughed, his smirk falling into something resembling more of a smile. Ayra frowned, not liking the look Lex gave her. She quickly sheathed her knife and got up off of Lex. She wandered away from him, trying to clear her head before the next round.

One round became two, then three, and then four. Ayra could have called it quits sooner, but Lex refused to back down, picking up on her technique quickly and learning to adapt. She couldn’t let him surpass her, though. She stayed, pushing herself to her limits until her arms shook and the sword grew too heavy for her to support.

But she couldn’t stop until her opponent did. Thankfully, Lex allowed her to keep her pride. He fell back to the ground, landing with a thud and staring at the sand around them. Though he wasn’t smirking, he still wore a smile. “Okay. I think I need a break. I don’t think I can stand back up.”

Ayra watched Lex sitting on the ground. He looked at his hands, a soft chuckle on his lips. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You don’t mess around when it comes to fighting – it’s invigorating.”

Ayra shoved the blade into the ground until it stood upright. Her hands were chafed and raw from the series of bouts and she wanted nothing more than to lie flat on the ground and fall asleep. But her arrogance stuck like a thorn in her side. With a wary eye on Lex, she stood her ground, looking down on him.

“I was trained by the finest warrior this land has known.”

“Yeah? Who’s that?”

Ayra tore her gaze away, eyes narrowing in thought. “Mariccle. My brother.”

There was a long pause. “… That would be the King of Isaach, yes?”

Ayra gave a solemn nod. “Yes. Mariccle succeeded the throne after our father was murdered…”

“I see. Your brother must be a great warrior, then.”

Ayra couldn’t read the tone in Lex’s voice. Even as she braced herself for the conversation, her body now shook for a different reason. “He was… he did not survive the war against Grannvale.”

Lex didn’t respond, but Ayra knew by his silence that this wasn’t news to him. His complete change of mood from his usual gruff and boisterous self belied the knowledge he withheld.

If Lex had the audacity to ask Ayra about her past, then she would make him confront the pain wrought in her life. She glared at Lex, her voice trembling alongside her hands.

“Do you know who is responsible for the death of my father?”

Lex turned his head up, not saying anything. He frowned, but his blue eyes met her piercing gaze.

“Lord Reptor and… Lord Langbalt. Your father. They murdered my father and doomed my country. They’re the reason I’ve lost my brother. They’re the reason why Shannan doesn’t have a father. They’re the reason I’ve had to scrape and struggle just to make ends meet and protect my nephew. You. Your family’s fault than I have lost mine,” Ayra spat out, words not coming close to the vitriol burning in her heart.

Lex didn’t move, taking the accusations. He remained silent as Ayra said her peace and only then did he speak, in a soft, quiet voice.

“Do you hate me, Princess Ayra?”

Ayra stared at Lex, considering the question. She hated Grannvalians in general. She hated the country and its warmongers. She hated that this oppressive country killed her family and now ruled the Isaachian people with brutality. She had been mocked and harassed and spat upon by these people. And the son of the man responsible for it all falling apart sat before her. And her sword still stood tall in the sand, ready to be drawn.

But Ayra would not draw it. She had no reason to strike down Lex. Not only would it be pointless, it would hound her. Fighting Lex gave her that same rush that training back home with her brother always did. Even if Lex wasn’t of Isaach blood, he was a warrior.

Ayra didn’t want to lose a fellow warrior. Even if she did hate him.

Ayra yanked the sword out of the ground before walking back towards the barracks. She wanted to wash up before dinner. She would need to regain her strength for the battles soon to come.

* * *

Ayra leaned against the cliffside, looking the hillside. There was another line of cavalry racing down towards the army, lances drawn at the ready. It wouldn’t be long before they discovered her position and she would soon have to deal with this oncoming enemy.

Agusty was located at the top of a climbing hill, the nearby ravines and cliffsides providing natural cover from approaching enemy. Any traction that Ayra normally had in the open plans or navigating through the forests was lost in this situation. The enemy quite literally had the high ground and Ayra couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

She couldn’t keep fighting uphill in this battle. She felt her pace slowed by the natural incline of the ground. Her momentum was off, and the range of those lancers was another problem to consider. However, any other options that she might have considered were far past. She couldn’t retreat now. The cavalry would soon outpace her and catch up.

Her only hope was to fight and hope that aid would soon reach her.

She knew that a couple of her companions were hidden nearby her. There was a mage that recently joined the group who seemed to handle himself well enough with wind magic and a mounted archer who had done his best to shoot from afar. But with the horsemen riding at full speed towards them, Ayra knew that any advantage their distance had provided them would soon be lost once they were surrounded.

At least Ayra could stand her ground when confronted by enemies at all sides.

Leaping from her hiding spot, Ayra charged forward, heart pounding in her ears. Her sword trailed behind her, Ayra running low to the ground to maximize her speed. The enemy spotted her, spears at the ready as they now made her their primary target. Ayra narrowed her eyes, steeling herself for the fight before her.

She made a promise to Mariccle. She promised her brother that she would protect Shannan with her life. That vow burned in her heart. Ayra would not let herself die here and now.

The first horseman met her, Ayra using the flat of her blade to deflect the lance away. The soldier raced past her, circling around to make another strike. Ayra didn’t have time to worry about him as another two knights lunged forward with their lances. Ayra narrowed dodged one, but didn’t have enough time to recoil from the second. She felt the weapon strike her from behind, digging in near her hipbone.

Ayra staggered for a moment before sprinting away, sharply aware of the warm, wet sensation near her lower back. She looked up in time to see the fourth lancer approaching. Adrenaline kicked and Ayra leapt up. With luck on her side, the man’s throat was sliced open by a quick flick of the blade.

Ayra rolled out of the way of the fleeing horse, its rider lost along the cliffside. A motion in her periphery warned Ayra that the danger had not yet passed. She leaned back, but not in time before the edge of a sword clipped her near the temple. Her vision went black for a moment, Ayra panicked at the thought of falling unconscious now with so many enemies surrounding her.

Her vision cleared, Ayra gritting her teeth as the two knights continued their assault on her. With both soldiers flanking her, it took everything Ayra had in her to just deflect and dodge the incoming attacks. She didn’t have the time to strike back, suddenly forced into defending and just trying to keep her life.

Ayra couldn’t help but wonder if her brother’s last moments were much like this.

The fighting style of Isaach warriors made them unparalleled single combat. The dueling nature and speed of attacks made these swordsmasters feared across the land. But when faced with sheer numbers, that speed means little if you cannot strike back. Ayra considered herself nimble, but as she weaved and dove and stumbled out of the way of each assaulting attack, she knew that she couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

Ayra made a promise to her brother. She couldn’t break it. She couldn’t leave Shannan alone. She couldn’t.

Ayra spotted a gap in the fight, acting purely on instinct. She skidded across the gravel, noticing one of the riders losing his balance on the loose footing. As he came down, Ayra raised her blade, impaling the man on her sword. She used his falling moment to slam him into the ground, removing him off her blade.

She turned to face the other cavalry, but she wasn’t fast enough. Bracing herself for the assault, she was thrown off her feet when the terrified horse blazed past her. The dirt and stone scraped along her jaw line, Ayra struggling back to into a kneeling position. She saw two spears diving towards her prone form, Ayra flinging her sword up in the hopes of deflecting at least one. The only sound she could hear was the sound of her heart racing in her chest.

If she was going to die, she couldn’t imagine a more fitting death. A warrior’s death.

Her heartbeat was broken by the sound of a battle cry, wild and rage filled. Ayra didn’t recognize the voice, but it stirred in her the pride of a warrior. For a moment of sudden clarity, Ayra spotted her aid, plunging into battle.

Ayra turned on her heels, swiping the lance away from her body. She saw the other spear diving to impale her from behind…

…But the weapon never found its mark. A sudden swing of an axe sent the spear flying wide, the horseman backing up as he lost his grip on his sword. The axe swung upwards again, leaving a heaving gash across the enemy’s chest.

Ayra didn’t have time to give thanks for Lex’s sudden arrival. With her opposing enemy caught off-guard by her comrade’s sudden appearance, she used that opportunity to bury her blade into his chest. She felt several ribs cracked, his chest caving in before he finally slumped down. She stumbled backwards to avoid the tumbling body, nearly losing her balance again and having to steady herself with one hand on the ground.

Ayra knew there was one more enemy soldier, but before she had the opportunity to face him, Lex was already there. She scanned her surroundings, moving to get back to her feet but she didn’t need to step in. Lex had already dispatched the last soldier, the sudden assault over in a matter of a few minutes.

Despite every bastion of pride in Ayra telling her to stand up and walk away, her body trembled. This dance with death had come far too close to comfort and instead, Ayra stared at the stony ground stained rust with the blood, from both the enemy soldiers and her own.

“Hey. Ayra.”

It took Lex’s voice to break her out of her stupor. She looked up, noticing Lex dismounting and running over to her. Instinctually, she scooted back, both hands gripping her sword tighter. Lex noticed the shift in her position, coming to a halt a few feet away from her as he looked her over.

“You alright? No offense, but you look like shit.”

If it were anyone else saying that, Ayra would have been livid. But she had come to expect such language from Lex. She sighed, forcing herself to put down her guard. “I’ll live. Though I imagine not for long if I don’t get these wounds taken care of.”

Lex’s eyes flicked over to the blood staining her robes by her hip. He frowned, looking around for their allies. “You need to get that taken care of. I think Aideen is around here somewhere. Let’s get you some help.”

In any other situation, Ayra would have resisted aid from Lex, but everything felt distant. She had come too close to death to let past feuds decide her decision. She was hurt and needed to get help. She didn’t want to bleed out and their battle ahead would be dangerous and difficult.

With considerable effort, Ayra struggled to her feet, arms still shaking with effort. She sunk her blade into the ground, using it to help her stand up right, freezing when she noticed an unhealthy crack along the blade. It seemed this last brawl had finally given way and her sword was on its last legs. She hated to admit it, but the blacksmith was right.

A hand placed before her led Ayra to meet Lex’s gaze again. The gesture seemed so unnatural for the two of them, more courteous and polite than either ever cared to be. Ayra considered ignoring the hand, but she didn’t feel steady enough to chance it, taking grasp of it.

Instead of a delicate grasp, Lex gripped her hand, a firm hold to hoist her up. In the sudden gesture, Ayra felt her strength return, seizing his hand with the same strong grip that convicted both of the fighters. She turned her gaze up, meeting Lex’s steady gaze. There were no words, no smirks, none of the usual façade she had come to expect of Lex.

On the battlefield, Lex was at his most honest. Nothing was hidden and in that moment, Ayra realized she viewed Lex as an equal here on the blood-stained soil. She saw him as a comrade-in-arms and a fellow warrior.

She saw the making of an Isaachian warrior in Lex. And Ayra hated herself for thinking that.

Ayra loosened her grip first, moving her hand to cradle her bleeding wound. She glanced away, conflicted by her thoughts and trying to force them aside for the moment. “Can we find a healer? I’m not feeling too good.”

Lex nodded, glancing around with a weird look on his face. “Yeah, Aideen should be nearby. Need some help getting by?”

“I can walk,” Ayra stated plainly, though she continued to use her sword as a crutch.

Lex watched her hobble for a moment, giving a long, beleaguered sigh. “I swear to the gods that pride will be the death of you.”

Ayra felt the corners of her lips twitch up. “Doubtful. Long-winded conversations with my fellow soldier not finding me a cleric is more likely to be the cause of my death.”

Lex stuttered, words catching for a moment before glaring at Ayra. She allowed herself a moment to give him a small smirk, satisfied in seeing him flustered for once. Her words did seem to sink in because he dropped the argument before it started.

“Touché. To Aideen it is. Don’t die before we get there.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

The battle claim Agusty was brutal, and the aftereffects of it all left the entirety of Sigurd’s army struggling to recover.

Though they had won the battle, the path to peace was far from mind. King Chagall accepted the terms of his defeat, but still remained sovereign over the country. Ayra had watched Sigurd try to parlay with the Agustrian king and Lord Eldigan to negotiate returning the country back to its people.

But as with anything Grannvale meddled in, the dukes of the various duchies across Grannvale were not willing to cede an inch of land without turning Agustria into its subject. Its independence would be nothing more than a farce and Agustria would pledge allegiance to its benefactor, the Kingdom of Grannvale.

Ayra had seen this ploy before. And it made her feel disgusted that she had any part in this struggle.

If there was anyone to pity in this situation, it was Lord Sigurd. Prior to meeting him, Ayra assumed that most Grannvalian lords were of the same breed. However, she had come to know the heir of House Chalphy quite well in these past few weeks. King Chagall was a king who abused his power and harmed in people. Grannvale was a kingdom led by warmongering, greedy lords.

Sigurd was caught between both sides, trying to negotiate a peace that seemed all but impossible. Sigurd had asked for a year to resolve everything. Five months had already passed since capturing Agusty castle and no long-standing solution had yet been presented. When this all falls apart, Ayra knew that Sigurd would face the brunt of it all.

But Ayra couldn’t help him. She had offered him what wisdom she could. Sigurd had turned to her and Jamke about trying to aid with peace talks with King Chagall. Their words did little to sway the Agustian king who viewed both of them as royalty of fallen kingdoms, no better than the savages that lived in their countries.

Apparently, Grannvalians were not the only ones who scoffed at foreigners. Must be a nobility thing.

Feeling a bit outside of her comfort zone, Ayra found herself wandering through the hallways of the castle. These months in a foreign land made her long for home. She could tell her other companions were growing homesick as well, staying only out of loyalty and devotion to their commander.

For Ayra, the situation was a bit more complicated than that. She had to consider Shannan first in all things. His safety was most important. Conveniently, this army provided her the protection they needed from prying eyes. They treated her and her nephew well and despite her longings for home, Ayra knew they could stay here. And that comfort was enough.

But it wasn’t just survival that kept her there. She had met many corrupt nobles in her travels, folks who used her and took Shannan as leverage. The surviving prince of Isaach would offer a hefty reward to any ill-intending Grannvalian lord. Yet Sigurd kept their presence in his army a secret from all envoys sent from the Grannvalian throne. Despite his allegiance, he knew how dire their situation was and kept his silence on their behalf.

Lord Sigurd was honorable and just. The people in this army were good. And she supposed that if things took a turn for the worse, she would remain by Lord Sigurd’s side.

This place was foreign, but it was starting to feel like home. She recognized the faces around her, giving a brief nod to each passing individual. She wasn’t sure if friends was the right term, but it was the right feeling. These people were becoming less like strangers and more like fellow comrades as time went on.

Ayra contemplated these things, not breaking her stride until she heard the sound of clattering iron in the distant. She stepped out into the open garden, smiling when she saw a young boy with black hair with a wooden sword in hand. His hair was held back in a ponytail. Time had passed by so quickly and in a way, it was difficult to see Shannan grow. She could see Mariccle in his face and with it, her heart ached and swelled at the sight.

Shannan gave a battle cry, racing toward her opponent. Ayra looked up, her heart skipping for a moment when she saw Lex standing before her nephew. The thought of Lord Langbalt’s son engaging in a friendly combat training with the prince of Isaach would have repulsed Ayra months ago. She would have loathed the idea and hated Lex even more.

It became difficult to hate him with each passing day. But that made Ayra hate Lex a little bit more. She hated that he was growing on her.

It was a complicated situation.

What was less complicated was watching Shannan take two swings at Lex, who parried both strikes with a wooden sword. Ayra could tell that Lex was put off by the sword, the weight and feel of the wooden weapon a far cry from his bulky axe. From the looks of it, it was taking everything Lex had in him to not get his ass kicked by a twelve-year-old boy.

Ayra watched in the background, eager to watch her nephew grow. Despite being so young, Shannan’s natural instinct for the sword clearly showed. Even with just a wooden sword, Shannan naturally sensed the movement of the sword, using it as an extension of himself. Even if the moves weren’t as clean or smooth, Shannan had been watching and learning.

He would become a fine warrior and great king one day.

Shannan turned to the side, striking towards Lex’s shoulder. He managed to parry the blow, using his strength to shove Shannan away. Instead, Shannan rolled with the deflection, using the momentum to reposition himself on the other side of Lex. He gave a desperate cry, wild and primal in nature.

With a sharp crack, Shannan’s sword found the back of Lex’s knee. Lex yelped, stumbling forward and giving Shannan an annoyed glare. At that point, Ayra laughed, unable to keep her quiet while watching of their match. She raised a hand, trying to muffle the sound, but finding it difficult with the petulant look Lex gave Shannan.

Her nephew noticed, Shannan lowering his sword, a large grin on his face. “Auntie Ayra! How long were you watching us?”

Ayra gave a small shrug. “Just long enough to watch you make Lex cry like a little baby.”

“I did no such thing,” Lex quickly denied, though there was no bite to his words. Flipping the wooden sword in his hand, he offered the hilt to Ayra. “I’m guessing it’s time for training?”

Ayra nodded, but pushed the wooden sword away. Resting her hand on her hilt, she gave Shannan a small smile. “I think we’re past wooden toys. Why don’t you go get that sword we got you, Shannan?”

Shannan’s grin widened, eyes bright with excitement. “Okay! Just give me a sec, auntie!”

Shannan dropped his sword and sprinted across the clearing back towards the castle to fetch his sword. Rolling her eyes, Ayra decided she would reprimand her nephew about returning his equipment. Lex seemed just as defeated, sighing as he scooped the wooden sword out of the sandy pit.

“You sure he should be handling real weapons? He’s just a kid,” Lex asked, brushing the sand sticking to the hilt of Shannan’s discarded sword.

Ayra gave Lex a sharp look. “Why ask questions that you already know my answers?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll surprise me one day and not be so serious all the time.”

Ayra elbowed Lex to get her point across, ignoring the indignant look he gave her. She pulled her sword from her sheath, adjusting it in her grip. “He is a prince of Isaach and heir to the throne. It is his birthright that he should lead our people and wield the Balmung like his father before him. It’s my job to prepare him for that moment.”

Lex balanced both wooden swords in one hand, leaning the dulled blades against his shoulder. He turned to face Ayra, squinting in the midday sun. “I understand that. But he’s not even a teenager yet. He’s just starting to get the hang of swinging around these wooden poles.”

Ayra held her blade in front of her, balancing the blade in her hands. She could see the various nicks and splinters in the metal, a wry smile on her face. “He needs to get used to the weight of a true sword. The sooner he gets used to it, the better prepared he will be when facing an enemy.”

“Ayra, he’s twelve. He’s not heading out into the battlefield any time soon.”

“Perhaps, but he’s the sole heir to the Isaachian thrones. There are bounties everywhere… I will protect him with my life, but I want him to be prepared for the worst regardless. I can’t take that risk,” Ayra admitted, feeling a hint of shame that she already demanded her nephew to give up the luxury of his childhood and start his training as a warrior.

Shannan seemed to enjoy the training, despite his awareness of what this training was all for. Ayra knew that the circumstances that led them to this place had been unfair. And truthfully, his childhood had already been stolen from him by the violence across the continent.

Shannan couldn’t remain a child anymore. Ayra was a powerful warrior, but she didn’t know if she could protect him from every danger. What better way to protect her brother’s son than to teach him how to protect himself?

“Hey.” Lex’s voice caught Ayra’s ear, her gaze turning to his. “We won’t let that happen. We’ll take of him, you know that right?”

Ayra flicked her eyes back down to her sword, gripping it by the hilt. “Right. I know. The army’s duty to protect its own. I get it.”

“I mean it! I know you’re worried about Shannan, but Sigurd and the rest of him won’t let anything happen to him. I’ll keep him safe too. Both of you. Though admittedly, you don’t seem to be in need of much help these days,” Lex stated, an uneven pace to his words as he stumbled through his explanation.

Ayra raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at her lips. His reassurances weren’t demanded, but they did ease her mind in a way she didn’t anticipate.

Of all things she expected in the world, trusting the safety of the Isaachian prince and her only family with the son of Lord Langbalt had been the furthest down her list. But that was unfair, wasn’t it? Ayra had come to expect certain behaviors and attitudes befitting of her experiences with the Grannvale kingdom. She had come to loathe them and so she expected to find that hatred in return.

Lex was no more defined by the actions of his father any more than Shannan would be. They would both have to make their own path. It was Ayra’s job to clear the path ahead of Shannan as best she could. She would train him and prepare him to take back his kingdom. She would stand by his side and watch proudly for when that day came.

But Lex…

Ayra didn’t want to say it, but she hoped Lex would have her back when that time came. On the battlefield, you had to always know where your allies and where your enemies stood at any given moment. The second you stop paying attention is when a knife will find its mark in your back. Ayra could trust Sigurd and their allies in the battles to come.

But Ayra trusted on Lex to have her back in a fight. She trusted him, more than anyone else, and that very trust conflicted with her being. What her father say to see her so friendly and amicable with the son of his killer? How would her brother react if he learned that the same family that destroyed their kingdom would playfully spar with Shannan?

Would her family hate her for betraying them? Would they commend her for bridging these broken bonds? Was Ayra allowed to do that?

Ayra glanced back to Lex, thoughts of family and legacy whizzing through her mind. Ever since they first started training together, they both had avoided the topic of family and the war on the other side of the continent. However, things had changed over the last few months.

“Lex, not to pry, but are you close to your family? Have you written to them at all since you left?”

Ayra could tell that her words alarmed Lex. He snapped his gaze up, eyes flashing, but she couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger. Scratching the back of his head, he gave an embarrassed cough. “I… Well, no, not really. I used to be closer to them when I was younger, but we had a bit of a falling out before I left with Azel.”

“Falling out? Over what?” Ayra’s eyes darted about Lex’s face, trying to read his expression but not getting much information out of him.

“… A lot of things. Some stuff was minor, like my dad’s treatment towards me and my brothers. He’s not exactly a shining example of a loving father. Other was internal affairs of the castle… But it was mostly my disagreements with his involvement in political affairs that really drove us apart.”

Ayra raised an eyebrow, not saying anything. Lex pointedly avoided her gaze, staring at the ground with a slight grimace on his face. There was a sense of… shame? Regret? Ayra couldn’t tell – Lex was always hard to read.

“You don’t strike me as a political sort of person, Lex,” Ayra spoke candidly.

To her surprise, this got a nervous chuckle out of Lex. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I hate the formality and pretense of politics and aristocracy, but I care about what happens. If the big decisions leaders make are going to drastically affect the lives of the people around us, then yeah, I care a fucking lot.”

Ayra smiled, nodding in agreement. “I understand that more than you realize. You’d have done well in Isaach.”

Lex’s weak smile faltered, his eyes glancing up to meet Ayra’s. He studied her, seemingly mulling something over in his mind. His hand slid down the back of his head to his neck, hanging off for a moment. “You know, that’s what really drove us apart. The war with Isaach.”

Ayra tensed, unsure if she wanted answers to questions. Her eyes pierced his, hand reflexively clenching and unclenching the hilt of her sword. “… What?”

Lex took in a deep breath, uncomfortable under Ayra’s scrutiny but not looking away. “My father readied his forces for war against Isaach after the attack on Darna. I didn’t see why we had to fight Prince Kurth’s war. We shouldn’t waste out efforts racing off to war – we needed to secure the border instead. My father called me a coward. In a way, he was right.”

Lex sighed heavily, shaking his head. “But I didn’t know at the time that he wanted a war. That my father and Duke Reptor would conspire to kill King Mananan. I had already left by then. Truthfully, I’m not sure if I would have done anything to stop him had known back then. I wouldn’t know how to stand up to my father.”

Ayra watched Lex, reading into his words. It wasn’t a belief that he thought the Isaachians were innocent that led him to stand against his father. If anything, Lex didn’t see the point of a senseless war. And Ayra didn’t know if he should be commended for that belief or scolded for not confronting his father over his cruelty.

“… Isaach had nothing to do with the massacre of Darna. It was the barbarians of Rivough who committed that atrocity.”

Lex grimaced, giving a slight nod. “I know. I asked Prince Quan about the situation in the Isaach. I figured as the prince of Thracia, he would have a better idea of what’s going on in that region.”

Ayra crossed her arms, anger flaring in her but not towards Lex. “Lord Langbalt and Lord Reptor are the reason this senseless war ever began. Any chance of diplomacy was taken by their hand. And you would have argued for such diplomacy.”

Lex gave a bitter laugh, his frustration growing apparent. “You give me too much credit, Ayra. I’m a warrior and son of a duke. I argued against violence to my father yet did nothing. What’s the point of words if I don’t back them by action? I fled instead, letting my father carry out his plans.”

“And you believe your words could have bent his ear? That he would have ceased his plans if you had spoken to him further?”

Lex snorted. “Probably not. But it doesn’t mean I’m absolved for my lack of action.”

Ayra sighed, her shoulders dropping. “True. But by that logic, I can’t be forgiven for fleeing my country instead of fighting to protect it. Regardless of our good intentions, we ran from the war.”

Lex gave a slight nod. “Yeah. And here we are. Now caught in the middle of another military conflict.”

Ayra smiled wrly at that. “It seems fate would punish our cowardice.”

“You’re not a coward. Far from it. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Ayra felt her face burn at Lex’s words. She wished she could hate him for causing such a reaction, but she instead fumbled in her response. “I’m good with a sword. That’s all.”

Lex started laughing, a grin growing on his face. “You? Acting modest? Who the hell are you and what have you done with Ayra?”

Ayra rolled her eyes, holding her blade up. “Do you really want to test my bravery now?”

Lex held up his two wooden swords. “Not going to take my chances until I get my axe back.” His eyes narrowed at her blade, a frown growing on his face. “What the hell happened to your sword?”

Ayra glanced down at the nicked and worn blade. Her sword had seen better days, and despite the blacksmith’s work, Ayra knew she would need to find a replacement. “We’ve been fighting a lot. It’s definitely taken its toll on my equipment.”

“We haven’t been in a skirmish in half a year. How the hell is your sword still beat to shit?”

Ayra glared at Lex. “Not all of us can’t let down their guard because of a temporary peace, you know.”

Lex placed a hand on his chest, puffing up a bit. “Hey, I’ve been training every day. And I can at least hold my own against you so pipe it down.”

Again – only Lex could get away with that sort of language towards the princess of Isaach. Ayra was about to suggest another friendly sparring match while they waited for Shannan, but her nephew came racing out the door, his sheathed slim sword clenched in both hands.

Instead, Ayra settled for giving Lex a small smirk, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. “Well, why don’t you sit back and watch? Maybe you’ll actually learn something and not get your ass kicked next time we spar.”

Lex sputtered at the condescension but couldn’t get a word in edgewise as Shannan reached them both in the training pit. Ayra managed to bite back her laugh, enjoying the sight of Lex thrown off his game. Anytime she could break past his stupid smirk and get an honest reaction from him was always worth it. And the way his face flushed red and he quietly grumbled as he leaned against the pillar to watch – it was strangely adorable in an odd way.

Ayra paused at this though, glancing back once more to look at Lex. His ears now matched the color of his cheeks, embarrassed by the ridicule. Lex raised an eyebrow when he noticed Ayra watching. She tore her gaze away, feeling the heat burning her cheeks for some reason. She shook it off, careful to keep her back to Lex.

Shannan and Lex would be learning a lot from her today and she couldn’t let them down.

* * *

If there was anyone who could make a better future for Grannvale, it would be Lord Sigurd. He had an earnest and honest disposition that easily won people to his side. Sharp and candid, Sigurd represented the potential his country had. If Sigurd could resolve the conflicts plaguing the land, then peace could truly last.

But when diplomacy failed, Ayra was ready to raise her sword.

King Chagall began moving forces to the north of Agusty, striking aggressively against Sigurd’s forces. The months of hard work to restore Agustria to its king were now wasted. Ayra couldn’t help but feel a bit torn on the issue. She recognized that Chagall was acting selfishly and destructively. His kingdom would have been restored to him given time.

Or at least, it should have been. In his position, Ayra wasn’t sure if she would trust the Grannvalian kingdom. They had been rather greedy in their land grabs as of late. They had already invaded Isaach and Verdane – it’s not hard to see why Chagall would be reluctant to entrust the return of his nation’s sovereignty in the hands of his enemies.

Ayra frowned as she stepped outside the gates of Agusty. She found herself flanked by her comrades that she had grown rather fond of over the last few months. Lady Ethlyn strode past her, staff in hand. Noish and Alec rode off to the east to head a squad of enemy soldiers approaching. Eryns soared into the sky, racing off to warn the villages.

Ayra trusted these people. She came to know her as friends. Even though they are her enemy in the grand scheme of things.

Or at least, they were.

Ayra stopped walking, her steps coming to a halt. She tipped her head back to look up at the blue sky. A perfect, cloudless day, the sun welcoming the bloodshed about to begin. Was it sunny back home in Isaach? Were the forests as rich and verdant as they always had been? Were her people safe and happy?

The last question made Ayra feel like glass inside, transparent and easily shattered. Her hand wandered towards her hilt but she couldn’t quite find it. Instead, her hands hung by her side, trembling. She would give her life to Sigurd’s cause because she believed that Sigurd could forge a path towards peace.

Would Sigurd and his allies come to Ayra’s aid to retake Isaach for Shannan’s sake?

Ayra didn’t know the answer and was too afraid to ask. She knew one day she would confront that question and she could only pray that she would have the allies to join her in liberating Isaach. Perhaps their duties would have to come first and Ayra would have to rally support elsewhere.

But maybe Le-

“Yo, Ayra, you’re not going to kill any enemies standing there like a statue.”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Ayra jolted in her spot, face burning. She tried to mask her embarrassment with an annoyed sigh, glaring up at Lex for good measure. “What do you want now?”

Lex didn’t take the sour tone too personally but didn’t miss the opportunity to throw sarcasm back at Ayra. “So courteous. I forget you’re a princess sometimes.”

Ayra looked down the hill heading north, leading them towards Madino. Her hand rested against the sheath of her sword, fingers twitching at the battle ahead. “Look, just get to the point, Lex. I haven’t got all day to waste chitchatting with you.”

Lex snorted. “Tell me how you really feel, then. Look – I have something for you. A little gift I found the other day that reminded me of you.”

Ayra felt the heat of her cheeks spread further. What the hell was Lex thinking giving her… a gift? Now? On the battlefield? What sort of maiden did he take her for? And why did the thought of Lex picking something out for her make Ayra’s heart skip a beat? Thankfully, her annoyance served as a perfect mask to her flustered reaction.

“Give it to another woman. I don’t have any need for such trinkets,” Ayra snapped, letting her momentum carrying her down the hill and away from Lex. She needed to clear her mind before the next battle and Lex was making that difficult.

Lex started to laugh, amusement tinging his voice. “Oh? Not even something like this?”

Ayra didn’t want to take the bait, but the way that Lex seemed to tease her drove her mad. She turned heels, glaring at him before freezing at the object in his hands. Her eyes widened, jaw falling agape at the exquisite blade held before her.

“Wait- that’s-!”

Lex chuckled, giving Ayra his signature smirk. “Oh? So you have heard of the famed brave sword, yes?”

Ayra took a few steps forward, unable to bottle up her excitement. She reached out one hand, tentative and fearful that this was all an illusion. Glancing up to meet Lex’s gaze, he gave her a brief nod, permission to take the sword.

The moment Ayra grasped the sword, her smile widened. The blade was exquisitely made, the balance beyond perfect. It felt as light as a feather, as if made of nothing, yet the edge was sharp enough slice through flesh as if it were liquid. Even more so, the designs along the blade arched upward, careful etchings that caught the light in every shimmer, making the sword dance in Ayra’s grasp.

Ayra marveled over the sword before, baffled as to how Lex even found this sword to begin with. “I’ve never seen a real brave sword before. Such a beautifully crafted instrument… How-“

Lex gave a shrug, cutting Ayra off quickly. “Glad you like it. It’s yours.” His eyes darted away, suddenly unsure and less confident than his usual disposition would convince Ayra. He gave a slight nod, stepping back towards his mount to head off into battle. “Well… see ya, I guess.”

Ayra tore her gaze away from the sword, chasing after Lex. Her hand reached out to snag Lex by the arm, holding him in place.

“Wait!”

Lex turned back giving her an odd look. Ayra glancing down at the sword, a brave sword, no less and tried to make sense of her conflicting feeling. Her trust in Lex. His honor and valor as a warrior. His blood relation to her family’s murderers. His courage and bravery on and off the battlefield. An axe he bears that also bears the name of bravery.

And that Lex would give that to her as well. To give her something to both fight and defend herself – honestly it was the best gift that Ayra could ever imagine. But it was more than just a gift. All of this. It was more than just comrades supporting one another or enemies trying to make a truce.

Lex was more than that. He wasn’t just a fellow soldier, a comrade, a good friend. And he certainly was not her enemy.

She didn’t know how to put to words what Lex was to her anymore. She didn’t know if she fully understood. But she needed to let Lex know somehow. Ayra was never any good with words. She was warrior – she spoke with actions. Perhaps Lex would understand.

Ayra lifted her hand, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen into Lex’s face. She locked her gaze with his, forcing him to maintain eye contact. There was a sudden tenseness to Lex’s body, eyes threatening to dart away but unable to under Ayra’s intense scrutiny. Her hand trailed down, brushing against his cheek for a moment before she let her hand drop to her side.

Lex blinked rapidly, eyes tearing away to watch Ayra’s hand. Ayra stood silently, waiting for some kind of reaction, whether it was confusion, affirmation or rejection. In the silence afterwards, Ayra could see Lex internally debating something, his head shaking slightly with thoughts. He raised a hand, seemingly to return the gesture before catching himself.

Ayra gave a heavy sigh, realizing she might have been preemptive in her expression. She turned to face the approaching enemy. She would need to get into position.

A hand against hers stopped her movement. She glanced down, Lex’s hand resting atop of hers on the hilt of the brave sword. Turning her gaze up, she studied Lex, eyes darting about his face. His usual smirk was gone and he seemed paler than normal. He looked like he wanted to say something but stopped himself from speaking each time.

Instead, Lex gave a short nod, hand jittery as he stepped. He stumbled back to his horse, mounting and riding off. Even from a distance, Ayra could hear him swearing under his breath about how he had acted like a fool.

“Oh…”

Even as she stood by watching him ride off, Ayra couldn’t help giggling. It started as a soft chuckle before she ended up laughing to the sky, a heavy weight finally released. The world would say their very bond could never exist. Not with their history and bad blood ruining any chance for a healthy change. But what else can one hope for if not the breaking of the old order of hatred and starting anew with something completely different?

Even if Ayra wasn’t entirely what that new thing was. But at least she didn’t have to worry about being the only one left in the dark in this situation.

It seemed Lex struggled with words too. And actions did seem to work better for them in the end.


End file.
